


Pie, And Variations Thereof

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Cunnilingus, F/F, Feeding Kink, Hand Feeding, Podfic Welcome, Stuffing, Thanksgiving Dinner, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 14:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20136643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Helen and Vanya share lunch, and eventually, other things.





	Pie, And Variations Thereof

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the ever lovely Electra XT!

After the "nearpocalypse", as Klaus had dubbed it, life had fallen back to normalcy surprisingly quickly. 

And Vanya went back to the orchestra. 

It was so normal, except in all the ways it wasn't. She could _hear_ now, things weren't quite so muffled anymore, and that was unsettling. Sounds seemed to be clearer, tastes more intense, and even colors seemed to throb if she was tired enough. It was like she'd been wrapped in cotton wool her whole life, and she was only now exposing her actual skin to the world. 

Vanya ate her lunch in the little courtyard by the concert hall these days. She liked to watch the people, and she liked the way the early air swirled around her. It was October now, and the sound of the leaves skittering across the pavement and the scent of the air getting colder seemed to open up something in the back of her throat that rose up like sorrow, but was more complicated than that. Her birthday— _their_ birthday— had been a happy, if slightly nervous affair. She was beginning to get more comfortable in her skin, and her place in the world. She sat on the bench, holding her turkey sandwich, and she people watched. 

Until she couldn't, because there was a person standing in front of her. She looked up— a pencil skirt, a white blouse, a blazer. She met a pair of thoughtful eyes, and her gaze was held long enough that she flushed, then looked down quickly. 

"Is it alright if I sit with you?" Helen indicated an empty spot on the bench. 

"Um," said Vanya, and she cleared her throat, scooting away to make more room, then picked up her sandwich. "Sure. Go for it."

Helen sat beside Vanya, enough space between the two of them that they wouldn't touch even by accident but could still hear each other. She took out her own lunch bag, and she carefully unwrapped her own sandwich. 

Vanya wasn't really sure what to say to that— she took a bite of her sandwich, and she was still shocked at the intensity of the flavors. It was just turkey. She hadn't changed much about her routine— it had been five months since all of that, but she was still doing things the same way she had been before. It was hard to make changes, when it felt like everything was so much more.

"What do you have?" Helen said, and Vanya nearly dropped her sandwich. She was still jumpy, it seemed. 

"What do I...?" Vanya glanced at Helen sidelong, confused. 

"For lunch," Helen clarified, and she took a dainty nibble of her own sandwich. "What do you have?"

"Oh," said Vanya, and she laughed, anxiety churning away in her gut. "Uh, just turkey. Turkey and mayo on white bread."

"I prefer sourdough," Helen said. She took another bite of her sandwich. 

The two of them sat in silence for almost a minute, and Vanya was coming up with increasingly ridiculous scenarios to start a conversation, starting with _do you still think I play like a scared thirteen year old?_ and ending with _so according to my time traveling age regressed brother you died in another dimension_, and then she considered just running off screaming into the mist. 

"Mine is prosciutto," said Helen. “With brie and fig jam.”

“I didn’t know they could make jam out of figs,” said Vanya, and she was almost immediately kicking herself. That was an exceptionally stupid thing to say.

“I think they can make jam out of almost anything,” said Helen, her face completely serious. 

“I saw, uh, I saw jalapeno jam the other day,” Vanya said, and she took a larger bite of her sandwich. “Although I’d think that it would contradict itself. Sweetness and spice, I mean.” Wait, shit, did that sound like she was making an innuendo? 

“I have a cousin in New Mexico,” said Helen. “He sends me spicy candy sometimes. I don’t have the heart to tell him that I can’t handle spicy food.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Vanya. The tree over their heads was being tossed by the wind, and it was casting interesting shadows across Helen’s face. Vanya tried not to stare too hard. 

Helen shrugged. “It’s no great tragedy,” she said. “I’ve just got a whole stockpile of candy to treat someone to.” She paused, her expression going thoughtful. “Or play a really mean prank on them, I suppose. If the urge struck me.” 

“I’ve never really been one for pranks,” said Vanya, “although I, uh, I grew up with people who played a lot of pranks on each other.” 

“But not on you,” said Helen, and there was something canny in her expression.

Vanya shrugged, took a bite out of her sandwich so that she didn’t have to say anything.  
“Why weren’t you pranked?” Helen was like a goddamn shark going after blood in the water. 

Vanya shrugged again. “I had a complicated childhood,” she said. “So does your cousin in New Mexico send you anything else?” 

“I’ve got some ridiculously brightly colored blankets in my apartment,” said Helen. “Not exactly my style, but I do appreciate the sentiment.” 

“That sounds nice,” said Vanya, and she smiled. “Really nice.”

“Do you have any cousins sending you things?” 

“What do you mean?” Vanya licked her lips, took another bite of her sandwich. Maybe it would taste better if she added some mustard. 

“Your family,” said Helen. “Do you have much scattered family?”

“Oh,” said Vanya. “Um. I’ve, uh, I’ve got a sister in California, although she travels back and forth. I’ve got a brother who travels around as well, for work.” 

“Right,” said Helen. There was another awkward silence. 

Vanya finished her sandwich, then glanced at her watch. “I should get back,” she said, indicating the door to the practice hall. 

“Right,” said Helen, and she gave Vanya a hesitant smile.

Vanya found herself smiling back in spite of herself.

* * * 

A week later, Vanya forgot her lunch.

She’d overslept, which was unusual— she slept a lot less than she had when she was medicated, which meant that sometimes she underestimated how much sleep she needed, and then her alarm hadn’t gone off, and now… well… here she was, trying to figure out what she was going to do for lunch. There was the fast food place nearby, although she still had a sensitive stomach when it came to greasy food, but still, maybe she could try the cafe?

“Vanya,” said Helen, and Vanya jolted out of her reverie.

“Sorry,” said Vanya, and she cleared her throat. “Sorry, my head is a million miles away.”

“Is it alright if I sit with you?” Helen cleared her throat. She rubbed her hands together, and Vanya noted the insulated bag under her arm. 

“Sure,” said Vanya, scooting over to give Helen more room on the bench. “Although, uh, I forgot to bring my lunch, so it’d mostly be you eating your lunch and me just sitting here.” She rubbed her own hands together, resting her elbows on her thighs, her chin on her palm. 

“Why did you forget to bring your lunch?” Helen looked sidelong at Vanya, one eyebrow up. 

“I overslept,” said Vanya, “and then, well, you know how it is.” _Did_ Helen know how it was? Helen didn't seem like she had ever overslept. Vanya wished she could be that put together. 

"Have some of my sandwich," said Helen, and she opened up her bag. 

"No, I couldn't," Vanya began, but when Helen handed her the sandwich she took it meekly. 

"I hope you don't mind fig jam," said Helen. 

"I don't actually know it I like fig jam or not," said Vanya, looking down at her sandwich. "I've never had it before.'

"My mother was very fond of it," said Helen, and her expression went sad for a moment. "I didn't like it when I was a kid, but it's grown on me." She cleared her throat, and her cheeks were turning pink. 

Was it rude, to just take it? Helen had offered it, but what if she just did it for the look of the thing? But then again, Vanya couldn't imagine Helen doing anything for the look of the thing. Vanya, lacking anything to say, took a bite of the sandwich. The meat was salty, the brie creamy. The fig jam was sweet, a sharp contrast to the other two flavors, and the bread— pumpernickel?— had a sour note that seemed to tie it all together. "This is… amazing," she said, after she had finished chewing. 

"A lot of trial and error," said Helen. "I like to cook. I find it relaxing."

"I've never been good at cooking," said Vanya. "I used to be a lot more… distracted, so I didn't really care much about what I was eating. These days I eat a lot of take out." 

"I could teach you," said Helen. "If you'd like. Nothing too complex, but anyone can do the basics."

_I'm hard to teach_, Vanya wanted to say. _I'm not special enough to be any good._ "Sure," said Vanya, "if you'd like."

"I'll come to your apartment, so you can be more comfortable," said Helen. "Next Saturday."

"Right," said Vanya. Her head was spinning. She was going to need to clean her apartment first. Hide anything especially weird. Did she have anything especially weird? She took another bite of her sandwich. 

"I'll need your address," said Helen.

"Oh," said Vanya. "Right." She cleared her throat again, and she was blushing. "Let me just…" She patted her pockets in an attempt to find a pen. 

Helen held one out, along with her address book. 

Vanya took it, and tried to make sure that her writing was legible. She wished she could stop blushing, but at least Helen didn't seem to be judging her. 

* * *

Helen managed to fit into Vanya's apartment perfectly, because of course she did. She sat on the couch as Vanya bustled around, making tea. She was wearing a button down shirt and a nicer pair of pants than Vanya was, but she was still much more dressed down than usual. 

"So what are we making?" Vanya eyed the grocery bags on her kitchen counter. "And how much do I owe you?"

"You don't owe me anything," said Helen, taking a mug of tea from Vanya. "What have you done with a knife?"

A little flash of memory, glinting like a piece of broken glass at the bottom of a bathtub. _Leonard, suspended in the air, and all of her rage pointed towards him, grabbing every item she could find and shoving them towards the incessant, hateful tempo he was creating, her rage a ball of ice in the pit of her stomach._

"Um," said Vanya, coming back to herself. "Not a lot."

"Right," said Helen. "Do you know how to peel potatoes?"

"It can't be that hard," said Vanya. Her heart was beating very hard, and her powers were on the very edges or her consciousness, trying to take over. 

“Do you have a peeler?”

“Yeah,” said Vanya. Mom had gifted her with a bunch of kitchen stuff when she’d moved out, and she’d never used most of them, but they were still in a drawer in her kitchen. 

“Alright,” said Vanya. “I can peel the potatoes.”

Helen gifted Vanya with a smile. “Good,” she said.

* * *

There was something calming about sitting at the table and peeling potatoes, while Helen chopped onions at the kitchen counter. There was a rhythm to it, but it was a soothing sort of rhythm. There was a rhythm to peeling the potatoes as well, and Vanya lost herself in it, letting herself ride along on it like a wave. 

She didn’t notice that her power had started to come into play, until she realized the table had started to vibrate. Then she had to yank herself out of her trance, and she was pulling herself back to herself… more or less. There was a little bloom of pain, and then she was looking down at her hand, where a little cut seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Her finger was bleeding.

“Oh,” she said. 

“What— oh.” Helen put down the knife, and she was bustling over. She was bustling over, and she was just taking Vanya by the wrist, pulling her to the sink. “Potatoes are like that.”

“They cut you?” Vanya was still a bit out of it, and she winced when Helen stuck her finger under the sink. 

“They’re slippery,” said Helen, and she turned the water on, right over Vanya’s newly cut finger.

Vanya winced— the rush of water stung.

“I’m sorry I said those things to you,” said Helen. 

“What?” Vanya was trying not to look at the way her blood was dripping into the sink. She had never been good with blood, and since the business with Leonard… 

“Back in March,” said Helen. She wasn’t looking at Vanya, and her fingers were still tight around Vanya’s wrist. “I’m sorry I said those things to you. They were cruel.”

“You were right,” Vanya said. “I was playing like a scared thirteen year old.” Helen’s fingers were very tight on her wrist, and very warm. “Although if you’re reaching out to me just because you’re feeling guilty—”

“I’m not,” said Helen. “Just because I feel guilty, I mean.” She sniffed, and Vanya wondered faintly if it was the onions, or if Helen was having a lot of feelings. “You’ve gotten a lot better.”

"Thanks," Vanya said, and she looked down at her wet hand. She wasn't sure what to make of Helen's niceness. Vanya didn't entirely trust _nice_ anymore, not after Leonard.

Helen wasn't nice. She spoke her mind, she dished her compliments out like they cost her money, and she seemed to think everything through before she said it. 

“Vanya,” Helen said, and Vanya jumped. Her finger was starting to get pruny. 

“Sorry,” Vanya said, and she cleared her throat. She wanted to kiss Helen so badly right now, she could almost feel the pressure of Helen’s lips against her own, and she was blushing so hard that she was a little bit afraid she’d pass out. She didn’t usually get hit with crushes this out of the blue. She was more of a piner. 

“It’s stopped bleeding,” said Helen, and she turned the water off, let go of Vanya’s hand. 

The urge to kiss Helen had left, at least, and Vanya stood there, a piece of paper towel over her finger. “Sorry,” she said.

“Happens to everyone, when they peel potatoes,” said Helen. “My mother used to say they wanted their blood offering.” And then Helen’s face went still. “My mother died,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” said Vanya, and she put a hand on Helen’s shoulder without thinking, before she realized it was the hand that had been bleeding, and was still wet with tap water. Crap. The dampness was already leaching into the fabric. 

“She died at the end of March,” said Helen.

_So did you, in another timeline_, thought Vanya, but she didn’t say it, because that was too complicated. It still made her head hurt sometimes. 

"It's why I stepped down from First Chair," said Helen. She kept her eyes on her feet, and Vanya squeezed her shoulder, then let go. She wanted to hold Helen's hand, but that would be weird. If any of this wasn't weird to begin with. 

"My dad died around then," said Vanya.

Helen sniffed, and she wiped her nose on the back of her hand. She looked much less put together than she usually did, but she was still leagues above Vanya. "I'm sorry," she said, and her voice was quiet. 

"Don't be," said Vanya, and now she did grab Helen's hand this time, squeezing it. "I mean, you didn't kill him." 

Helen gave Vanya a slightly watery smile, and Vanya smiled back. Then she frowned, looking down at where their hands were joined. 

Vanya made to yank her hand back, but Helen was holding on too tightly. "You're still bleeding," said Helen. 

"I'm sorry," said Vanya. 

"Why? You're not bleeding at me."

"No, more on you," said Vanya, and she gave a nervous giggle, which died in her throat when Helen looked over at her, one eyebrow raised. 

Then Helen cracked a smile. "You know, you apologize a lot."

"I know," said Vanya, and she sighed. 

"I'm not going to tell you that you don't need to apologize, since you obviously seem to think you need to." Vanya flushed, and then she remembered the flowers that Allison had found in her bedroom, with Leonard’s notes about “sorry.” . "But," Helen continued, "if I want you to apologize, I'll say something."

"I should get a bandage," Vanya pulled her hand back, and she made her way towards her bathroom. She was blushing very hard, and she wasn't sure if she was dealing with some kind of crush or just pure embarrassment or… something. 

Her feelings had been much simpler, when she was still medicated. A lot more one note, admittedly, but simpler. She watched the way the light played across Helen's profile, and her fingers itched to trace the line from Helen's hairline to the elegant curve of Helen's nose, to the plushness of Helen's lips. 

This was all pretty new, but… well, the warm glow in her stomach sure was nice..

* * *

Helen and Vanya sat at Vanya's small kitchen table, and they ate cottage pie. The potatoes were creamy, the beef was well seasoned, and the carrots were the exact level of crispness. Even the onions were well cooked, and Vanya had always been picky about onions. 

She was halfway through her plate when she realized that Helen was watching her intently. 

“Is there, uh, is there something on my face?” Vanya grabbed a paper napkin, dabbing around her mouth.

And Helen… blushed. That was unexpected. “Sorry,” she said, and she looked down at her own plate. “I… like to watch people eat.” She said it as if she was admitting to some great, dirty secret.

“It’s nice to know that you’re making people happy,” Vanya agreed. “You did a really good job with this.” She took another bite, and licked her lips. It was a little showy, but there was something nice about the way that Helen blushed. 

“Right,” Helen said, and then her eyes were back on her own plate. “That’s exactly it.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and then she looked over at Vanya through her lashes.

Vanya blushed, and she wasn’t sure why. The hot meat was just as warm as the glow that seemed to be filling her stomach, and the combination was enough to make her squirm in her chair. 

At least she wasn’t the only one. Helen was jiggling her leg now, and she was still watching Vanya eat. It was honestly a little weird, but Vanya tried to ignore it, and ate her own dinner. There was something nice about being looked at like that. 

“You can keep the cottage pie,” Helen told Vanya, when they’d finished dinner.

“Are you sure?” Vanya was carefully covering the casserole dish with aluminum foil. She wasn’t sure how she’d fit it into her fridge, but she’d worry about that later. “Yeah,” said Helen. “Consider it a gift. Or an apology.”

“If I don’t need to apologize, then neither do you,” said Vanya. 

Helen smiled at her again, and she looked genuinely pleased. “Fair enough,” she said, and Vanya wanted to kiss her all over again.

She’d have to settle for smiling back at Helen, which seemed to be equally appreciated, at least. 

* * * 

A week later, Helen baked cookies. 

They were fancy cookies— they smelled buttery and subtle, and there were little bits of something that looked herbal in them. They were in a metal cookie box, the kind that people kept sewing supplies in, and Helen held it out to her when they sat on the bench together. 

"I was stressed out last night," Helen said, "and I felt experimental. Try one, and tell me if it was a waste. I like them, but it may just be a sunk cost fallacy."

"Experimental," Vanya echoed. "I've never been so experimental I made cookies." She reached into the tin, taking out a round cookie and taking a bite out of it. 

The buttery cookie melted in her mouth, and there was an aftertaste of something sweet and familiar, in a way she couldn't put her finger on. She frowned, still chewing, and then she caught Helen's expectant look. 

"Sorry," Vanya said. 

"Don't be," said Helen. "How is it?"

"I can taste… something. It's familiar." She was still frowning. "I'm not sure what it is."

"Earl Grey tea," said Helen. "I felt like making shortbread, but needed something to add a bit of zing."

"Oh!" Vanya smiled, and hesitantly reached out for another cookie. Helen held the tin out, and Vanya took another one. "I love Earl Grey," she told Helen. 

"I know," said Helen. 

"How— oh. Right!" Vanya blushed, and stared down at her nibbled cookie. "I served you some."

"It was good tea," said Helen. 

Vanya finished the cookie, and eyed the tin. She probably shouldn't have but… well, they _were_ delicious. 

"Have another," said Helen. 

"Well," said Vanya, "if you're offering." She took another. 

"I'm glad you like them," said Helen. She was watching as Vanya ate, and Vanya tried not to blush. 

"I should make you something," Vanya burst out. 

"Hm?" Helen raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Well," said Vanya, "you made me something nice. So I should return the favor."

"Let me come over this weekend, and I'll teach you to make pie crust," said Helen. 

"How is that the same as me making you something?" Vanya's heart was beating a little too fast, and she was blushing. 

"I need an excuse to not go to my brother's house," said Helen. "I suspect I'm going to be put on unpaid babysitting duty. Unless you're busy on Saturday?"

"No," Vanya said quickly. "No, no, I'm not. I'm, uh, that is, _you're_ free to come over." 

"If you're sure," said Helen. 

"Come on over," said Vanya. "Any particular kind of pie?"

"Buy any fruit that's not bananas or cactus fruit," said Helen. 

"I don't know where I would even _get_ cactus fruit," said Vanya. 

“So I don’t have to worry about you bringing any over,” Helen agreed, and then she smiled again. “I trust you,” she told Vanya, and Vanya’s whole self shouldn’t have lit up like that, and yet. 

“Thanks,” Vanya said, and she realized she was grinning like a dope. She looked down at her feet, and she cleared her throat. “So I’ll, uh, I’ll go to the grocery store.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Helen agreed. “You’ve got spices as well, right?”

“Right.” said Vanya, although fuck if she knew which spices she was supposed to have. “Spices. Obviously.”

Helen raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

Vanya blushed harder.

* * *

“Mom,” Vanya said into the payphone, shifting on her heels, the phone booth cramped, “I’m sorry to bother you, I know I haven’t called in a while, I’ve been kinda busy…” 

“You’re not bothering me, Vanya,” her mother’s voice came to her, tinny through the speaker. “I’m always glad to hear from you.”

“Mom, what spices go with apple pie?” Vanya shifted again, and glanced over her shoulder. The grocery store was lit up like some kind of late night movie palace, and Vanya had never been so intimidated. It was kind of pathetic, but she wanted to get this _right_. She wanted to impress Helen. 

“It depends on the kind of apple you’re getting,” her mother said.

“What are the best apples for apple pie?”

“Generally, Granny Smith are the best— their tartness very much cuts the sweetness of the pie. I would recommend cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice. Some people add brown sugar, but i’ve always found that to be too sweet.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” said Vanya. “I’m sorry for calling out of the blue about pie.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Grace. “I love hearing from you, darling.” 

“I’ll call more often,” Vanya promised, a stab of guilt making its way between her ribs. 

“Don’t worry about me,” said Grace. “Enjoy your pie!”

“Love you, Mom,” said Vanya, and she hung up.

Okay. She could do this. She’d gone grocery shopping before. She was an adult with an actual job. She had done this before. She would be absolutely fine.

* * *

Vanya was putting apples in her grocery basket when the mental image of Helen pressing a forkful of pie to her mouth dropped into her mind. It was an idle thought, at first. Sure, she’d been thinking of impressing Helen with the pie, thinking about the fact that maybe she’d be a pie prodigy, and maybe this time she wouldn’t cut her finger open, but it hadn’t been anything especially… juicy, for lack of a better term. 

Except now her heart was racing and her cheeks were flushed. She was getting especially juicy between the legs (and oh god, even that thought process made her wince, because she was clearly spending way too much time with Klaus), and it couldn’t be normal to get turned on at the idea of someone giving her pie, right? She’d read about people being into sexy foods, but since when was pie considered a sexy food?

Her hands were still shaking, as she made her way towards the spice aisle. Maybe she was just some kind of pervert, and Helen would be able to figure it out as soon as she laid eyes on Vanya. Helen was perceptive like that— she’d probably be able to tell when Vanya was worked up, since Vanya knew she wasn’t exactly the most subtle at the best of times. But it was just making pie. Vanya was just lonely, and reading too much into it. Maybe she needed to go on a few dates, or something. 

Unless this counted as a date? No, probably not. Who’d ever heard of making pie on a date?

* * *

“You made a good choice with the apples,” said Helen, as she sat at Vanya’s kitchen table, peeling apples. “Granny Smith are usually the best when it comes to baking.”

“I asked my mom about it,” Vanya admitted, as she kept attempting to roll out the pie dough. It was like a frozen hockey puck. “I, uh, I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“I am very much not disappointed,” said Helen, and she smiled at Vanya in a way that made Vanya’s stomach twist up in new, interesting ways. Vanya blushed, looking down at the pie crust, which wasn’t moving. “Although you’re not doing that right.”

“Sorry,” Vanya said quickly.

“You don’t need to be,” said Helen, and she stood up, dusting her hands off. Then she was behind Vanya, and her hands were over Vanya’s, her breasts pressed into Vanya’s back. “You need to use a rocking movement, to make it smoother.”

“Right,” Vanya said, and at least she wasn’t squeaking. 

"Like that," said Helen, and Vanya imitated the motion, as Helen's hands moved to rest on her hips. She was holding on, squeezing, and Vanya tried not to blush as she kept rolling the crust out. 

Helen was very warm, and her hands were like brands, her thumbs pressing into Vanya's sides. Her breath was hot on Vanya's neck, and Vanya was flushing, as she rolled over and over, until there was a flat disc on the table that looked something like a pie crust. 

"Very good," Helen said. 

Vanya could hear her heartbeat, and Vanya could hear her own heartbeat, the two sounds mingling. There was a crash from the cupboard, and Vanya pulled away from Helen, embarrassed. 

"Sorry," she said, and she cleared her throat. 

"Why are you sorry?" Helen looked at her sidelong, and she looked genuinely perplexed. 

_I have sound based telekinetic powers and I'm so horny and flustered that I think I just broke my plates_, Vanya didn't say. "Just nervous," Vanya said instead. "Let me just… check on that."

* * *

Vanya cleaned up the broken plates, as Helen peeled apples. She had a way of peeling the whole apple in one long strip, and Vanya tried not to be distracted by the way Helen's fingers moved as she picked up bits of broken crockery. 

"So what happened?" Helen put a peeled apple in a bowl, grabbed for another one. 

"I think a shelf broke," Vanya said. "I'll definitely talk to my landlord about it." 

Helen picked up another apple, beginning to peel it. "It's a pity," she said. "You had nice plates."

"Thank you," Vanya said, then: "ow!"

She had cut her finger on a broken piece of plate. 

"Are you alright?" Helen made to get up, as Vanya shoved her thumb into her mouth. 

"Yeah," Vanya said, and she laughed self conscious. "Some day, I'll have to invite you over here and I _won't_ bleed."

Wait, shit. Was that implying that she expected Helen to come visit her again? Was that presumptuous?

Helen gave her a half smile. "That sounds like a plan," she said, and Vanya's stomach fluttered like she had swallowed a bird. 

* * *

The pie came out well. The crust was lumpy, and Helen was critical of her own apple spicing, but Vanya wouldn't complain. It was still delicious. 

Helen cut Vanya three slices, and Vanya somehow managed to eat them all, although she was full to bursting by the end of it. Helen kept her eyes on Vanya, which spurred Vanya on to keep eating. 

Helen gave her an awkward hug, before she left. Her belly was pressed up against Vanya's, and Vanya was full enough that it was… uncomfortable. She wasn't going to tell Helen, though. 

"You did a good job," said Helen. "Be proud."

"I'll do my best," Vanya said, and she winced internally. Fuck, that was an awkward thing to say.

"I'll see you at rehearsal," said Helen, and then she was out the door. 

Vanya stood in her living room longer than she should have, grinning like a fool. 

* * *

“I made cream puffs,” Helen said, about a week later. She was sitting at the bench, and there was a sizeable container on her lap.

“Oh?” Vanya sat on the bench next to her, and they were close enough that their thighs were touching. Vanya remembered the feel of Helen’s breasts against her back, and she blushed. 

“I was feeling antsy,” said Helen, “and I’ve found that baking can help with that.” She opened up the container, and sure enough, there were cream puffs, all pushed together like pearls in an oyster.

“Anything in particular got you all worked up?” Vanya reached in and took a cream puff, then took a bite of it. There was an explosion of sweetness on her tongue, countered by the dry crunch of the pastry itself.

… and there was a blob of cream on her chin, because of course there was. She was never going to be an elegant eater. She wasn’t expecting Helen’s hand to come out and rest on her jaw, though, or for Helen’s thumb to wipe up the cream and press it to her lips.

Vanya opened her mouth unthinkingly, and Helen’s thumb rested on her tongue, coated in whipped cream. She sucked the cream off, but she kept Helen’s thumb in her mouth, sucking on it gently. They were keeping eye contact, and there was something going on, something that made Vanya’s stomach churn and her whole body thrum with some kind of energy.

“Helen,” said a voice, and then whatever spell the two of them were under was broken, and Helen pulled her finger away, and turned to look up at one of the oboe players.

Vanya smiled wanly, and tried to hide her blushing cheeks. God, what had even happened?

Helen was talking with the oboeist, and then she was handing Vanya the container. “Bring me that back by Friday,” she told Vanya.

“Right,” Vanya said, and she tried not to blush as she looked down into it. There were a lot of cream puffs. 

“I’ll make you something else next week,” Helen promised her, and then she was up and off.

“You don’t have to,” Vanya called, but Helen made a dismissive hand gesture without turning around. 

* * *

Vanya ate the cream puffs over the course of two days. She probably should have spaced it out a bit more, but she didn't have a lot of space for them in her fridge. 

She had such a bellyache, but it was worth it, to give Helen her container back when it was asked for. 

There was something nice about her stomach that filled— something almost sexual about it, which probably made her a sick pervert, but she was a sick pervert that was lying in her own bed full of homemade cream puffs. 

She had a slow, lazy masturbation session, humping her hand. She remembered the sensation of Helen's thumb on her tongue, and she rubbed her clit harder, pressing down on her own belly. She came across her hand, her hips jerking forward, and then she fell asleep, and dreamed of a table covered in unknowable things. 

* * *

"I made you macarons," said Helen, and it was the week before Thanksgiving. When had that happened?

"I need to make you something," Vanya protested, but she did take the box that Helen was holding out to her. She was blushing, she realized, remembering masturbating while she could still taste cream on her tongue. 

"It's nice to be able to feed someone who appreciates it," said Helen. "You seem to be the only person here who isn't on a diet and willing to try new things."

"Right," Vanya said, looking down at the macarons in her lap. They were a pastel green. "I'm not exactly picky. Although I don't like oatmeal."

"Why not?" Helen was watching Vanyan and Vanya took a macaron, taking a bite out of it. 

It was sweet, with an initial crunch, then softness. She let the sweetness dissolve on her tongue, then meld into a deeper, subtler taste. 

"I don't like the texture," said Vanya, then, "pistachio?"

Helen smiled at her. "Very good." She cleared her throat, and now she looked faintly embarrassed. "Would you like to come to Thanksgiving dinner at my house? It's going to be me, my brother and his husband."

"I… thank you," Vanya said, and her heart was pounding so loudly that she was amazed Helen couldn't hear it. "I'm going to be doing Thanksgiving with my family this year." She gave an awkward smile. "My sister is going to be in town for it, my mom is gonna go all out…"

"That sounds nice," Helen agreed. "If you change your mind, you are welcome."

"Right," Vanya said, and she licked her lips. "Sorry, I guess you want your macarons back."

"If I give you something, it’s because I want to give you something. Not because I want you to do something," said Helen. 

"Right," said Vanya, and she took another macaron. "Right. Sorry."

"You have no reason to be sorry," said Helen. "I'll have to invite you over for Thanksgiving leftovers."

"I'm looking forward to it," Vanya said. "I'm going to make a pie. For my family one, I mean."

"That sounds good," said Helen. 

“I’ll make you a pie next,” Vanya promised Helen. “I mean, after I make the one for my family.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” said Helen. “Although you’ll have to help me eat it. I’m not really one for sweets.” 

“Right,” said Vanya. "I could make you something that wasn’t sweet?” Some ridiculous part of her almost wanted Helen to make a Klaus-esque line— _anything you make would be sweet!_ or something like that, but… thank fuck, she didn’t. That would be weird. 

“Desserts are easier for beginners,” said Helen. “The Frere Jacques of food, if you will.”

Vanya tried not to wince, as a bit of a memory bit her in the ass. She ate another macaron, so she didn’t have to think about it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, after she’d swallowed the macaron. 

“I’ll teach you to make bread,” said Helen, and she sighed. “I’ve got a lot of cooking to do for Thanksgiving, though."

“Do you need any help?” Vanya said, before her brain could catch up with her mouth.

“I do appreciate it, but no,” said Helen. 

“I’ll help you next time,” Vanya said. “I mean. If you… if you want me to.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find you something to do,” Helen said, and she gave Vanya another sidelong look that Vanya couldn’t read. “Have another macaron.”

Vanya took it gratefully, and let the sweetness of the cookie and the crispness of the air wash over her like a fog. 

* * *

Making pie solo was less fun than making it with Helen. 

It shouldn't have been quite as much of a surprise. Cooking solo was... fine. It was boring, to be sure, but it was fine. Vanya had more trouble with rolling the dough out than she thought she would. She kept the radio on as she cooked, letting the music and the weather report mingle together as she peeled apples, rolled out pie dough, and preheated her oven. There were a lot of breaking news bulletins about the cold front, and the apparent upcoming storm.

It was cozy— the kitchen was like its own little oasis of light and warmth, after the darkness outside. When Vanya peeked out her window, she saw fat snowflakes spiraling through the air. That probably didn't bode well, but she'd worry about that later. She had a cookbook open on her table, and she'd glance at it every now and then, squinting in the golden light of her kitchen. It reminded her of writing, in a weird way— hunched over something, squinting and trying to make it right, and nobody else knew what you were doing. It wasn't like music, where people could hear you getting better. It was just you, figuring it out as you went.

Still, she couldn't really complain too much. She was going to share Thanksgiving leftovers with Helen, and something about that left her stomach twisting in ways that were pleasant and confusing at the same time. She groaned, covering her face with both hands... and then wincing, as she got flour on her face. She'd deal with all of these confusing feelings when Thanksgiving was over. She was already feeling weird about seeing her family in this kind of capacity— a _normal_ capacity, inasmuch as anything they did could be normal. It would probably be awkward, and there would probably be arguments and Diego would throw something at someone and Luther would try to explain his latest astrophysics problem, and Five would be telling everyone about the latest adventure he'd had doing who knew what, and Allison would keep that smile on her face she always wore when she was trying to prove how okay she was with everything. Vanya wasn't even sure what Klaus would do— he was such a wild card these days, sober for the first time since they were small. 

Her life was a lot weirder than it had been, but at least it was more interesting? There was still the desperate howl of loneliness in the pit of her stomach, but sometimes it felt like Helen was trying to fill it with food, or Klaus with his horrible jokes, or Luther with his book recommendations, or Allison's awkward hugs, or Diego's equally awkward attempts at reconciliation, or Five trying to explain his equations, or... well, all of them. Like she was turning into a person again, after being nothing but a lonely empty ball of resentment after all those years alone. And then she realized that there were tears tracking down her face, into the rolled out disc of the pie crust in front of her. Oops. That was probably a biohazard. 

Oh well. 

She wiped her face on her arm, and she turned the radio up a little louder, letting Gershwin's _Rhapsody in Blue_ wash over her, as the snow fell down outside, muffling the world like it was wrapped in cotton wool. 

* * * 

"So we're not doing it tonight?" Vanya twisted her phone cord around and around her finger, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt.

"I'm sorry," said Luther's voice, tinny through the phone. "Allison's flight is delayed, Diego's still trying to dig his way out of the gym, _we're_ still stuck, the buses aren't running, I don't want you coming all the out here when it's like this. It's not safe."

She bristled, tried not to remember what it was like when they were still telling her that she was too ordinary for missions. "Right," she said, and her voice was toneless through the phone.

"It's too cold for _me_ out there," said Luther, and he laughed, sounding awkward. "The snow looks at least as tall as I am."

"You're being over dramatic," Vanya accused, but she was grinning again.

"A little bit," Luther agreed. "It's driving me crazy that I can't go pick up Allison at the airport," he added, and he sounded self conscious, "but... well, she called us, she's okay, we're okay here, I'd recommend you stay where you are and hunker down. At least, until tomorrow."

"I'll definitely keep you posted," Vanya promised. 

“We’re going to miss you,” said Luther. “By we, I mainly mean me and Mom and Pogo.”

“Right,” said Vanya. “I’m gonna miss you too.” She kept twisting the cord around and around her finger, although her feelings still twisted through her guts, like she had swallowed a bag of snakes. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? And as soon as we get Allison home.”

“Right,” said Vanya. She felt like crying, and that was dumb. This was all dumb— she’d spent so many Thanksgivings alone, and this one wasn’t going to be any differnet, so why was she so bothered, anyway? 

Maybe they were all secretly planning something, maybe they were all still mad at her. They had superpowers anyway, so it wasn’t as if—

Vanya caught herself mid-thought, and she shook her head, staring at the swirling snow. “No,” she said out loud. “No, we’re not doing that.” She had a bad habit of going down unpleasant inroads when she was in a certain kind of mood, and she needed to stop doing that. She could work on it. She could do other stuff, in the mean time. 

When she opened up her fridge to take out her orange juice, she saw the pie, covered in aluminum and looking forlorn. Another shot of resentment and anxiety went through her, and the dishes (newly replaced, from the thrift store down the street) rattled in her cabinets.

“I’m going to practice,” she said to the room at large. “That’ll help sort me out.” 

* * *

She played for almost four hours straight. First, she practiced her piece for the upcoming concert, again and again, until she was seeing it with her eyes closed. Then she began through some old favorites, going from one piece to another. When she pulled herself out of the trance she went into with her music, she realized that all the furniture in the room was in the air and rotating.

“... Let’s not do that,” Vanya said, and she was paying careful attention as she set everything down. It was like flexing a muscle she didn’t use often, and when everything was flat, she flopped onto the couch, her eyes sliding shut. “I need to get out of here,” she said, “before… I don’t even know.” She was talking to herself, which was never a good sign. She stared into the middle distance, trying to sort herself out. 

What could she do, to stop the anxious cabin fever that was creeping up over the edges of her mind? Her eyes focused on the telephone, and then the idea hit her. 

* * *

“Hey, Helen?” Vanya leaned against her kitchen counter, watching the snow fall down in hypnotizing rounds. 

“Yes?” Helen’s voice was tinny on the other end of the line. 

“I know this is last minute, but… if you’d still like me to come for dinner, I remember you saying you lived near me…”

“I’m about ten blocks, yes,” said Helen. “If you’re up for walking in all this. I wouldn’t ask you to—”

“No, no, I’d love to,” said Vanya, and then she blushed, because that was a big word to drop, even for something this… unimportant. “Give me your exact address, and I’ll come on over. I’ll even bring pie.” 

“Who am I to say no to pie?” 

“Exactly!” Vanya didn’t point out that Helen had said she didn’t like sweet things. This didn’t seem like the right moment. “So it’s okay?”

“Come on over,” said Helen. “I’ve got more than enough food.”

Vanya’s stomach lurched in an unexpected way, but she smiled, and she wrote down the address. When she hung up the phone, her heart was pounding all over again. It felt like she was going down some unexpected road, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that, but she could live with that. She could _definitely_ live with that. 

Although going out in a blizzard with a pie was probably a bad idea, but fuck it. It was better than staying home by herself and stewing. 

* * *

Vanya was wearing her thickest coat, wrapped in a scarf, her hat pulled so low that she could just barely see between the gap. She kept the pie wrapped in aluminum foil, clutching at the pie dish. Helen had loaned her the pie dish, come to think of it. There was something circuitous about all of this, although maybe that was just Vanya chasing her own tail as she trudged through the snow.

There was a lot of snow. The plows went by, it was true, and some people had salted their sidewalks, but it was still taking genuine effort to trek towards Helen's apartment. She was almost— _almost_— tempted to go back, but... no. That meant more time by herself in her apartment. Helen would have warm food, Helen would be company, maybe Vanya would get to meet some of Helen's family and see if the rest of them were quite so intense as Helen was. 

Although Vanya's boots must have been leaking, just a bit, because her feet were cold and she was sweating down her back in her coat. Helen had said "the house with the red door," and Vanya squinted against the wind, peering through the snow. It was taking effort to keep track of the street names and the house numbers, but she was still making her way towards it, slowly. She could barely feel her hands, and her toes were so cold, but there would be good food. 

Maybe she should have brought more than just the pie. It wasn't as good as Helen's pie had been— the butter hadn't melted completely, so there were lumpy spots along it, and the flour had clumped in certain places, so there was that mess as well. The apples had cooked well, at least, from what she'd seen, and she'd ended up saving the leftover apple bits.

If nothing else, at least she wasn't endlessly staring into the middle distance, trying to get her thoughts into some kind of order. She was being proactive, and that was good, right?

* * *

Helen answered the door after the first ring, which was a good thing, considering Vanya was beginning to get worried about her toes. She was shaking so hard that her teeth were chattering, and she wasn't able to say much more than "It's V-V-Vanya," before she was dragged inside.

"You _walked_?" Helen scolded, and she took the pie out of Vanya's unresistant hands. 

"No c-c-cabs," Vanya chattered out, as she was shoved onto a chair next to a table by the front door. The door was slammed shut, and then Helen was putting the pie on the end table, and she was leaning over Vanya, unzipping her coat. 

Vanya could see straight down the front of Helen's light blue blouse, and she was so cold she couldn't look away. She just let Helen unzip her, let Helen unwrap the scarf, remove her hat. Her hair tumbled down around her face, her hair tie pulled off with her scarf, and Helen's hands were on her cheeks, scalding hot. 

"I'm glad to see you here," said Helen, "but I'm a little bit mad at you." Her fingers combed through Vanya's hair, tucking it behind Vanya's ears. "You could get sick!"

"I'll be okay," said Vanya, and she covered Helen's warm fingers with her own gloved ones. They were still cold, and Helen was turning her hand around, squeezing Vanya's fingers, then carefully removing the gloves. She held Vanya's hands between her own, and her hands were softer than Vanya's own, although they both had calluses in the same places. 

"Don't do that," Helen said sharply, and she knelt down in front of Vanya. 

Vanya was treated with the sight of Helen looking up at her, and her own stomach lurched. "Do what?" She licked her lips.

"Don't belittle the fact that you did something dangerous," said Helen. "I know you don't value yourself the way you should, but still." She was very carefully untying Vanya's boots, easing them off of Vanya's feet, and Vanya wriggled her toes in their wet socks, and tried not to start shivering all over again. 

"Sorry," said Vanya, and she made an inelegant noise as Helen pulled the wet socks off, then wrapped her hand around Vanya's cold foot. 

"You have tiny feet," Helen said, and she squeezed Vanya's foot, Vanya's toes against her palm. "They're so _cold_."

"In fairness," Vanya said, "most of me is cold."

Helen snorted, and she let go of Vanya's foot, to pull the other sock off.

Vanya tried not to make another undignified noise, as both of her feet were exposed to the warm air. Her toes were wrinkled from the wet, and very pale. Although most of her was pale, come to think of it. 

"I'm going to lend you some socks," said Helen, "and you should get out of that sweater as well."

"Right," Vanya murmured, and she tucked her hands under her armpits, trying not to shake any harder than she already was. "I'm sorry for keeping you from your other guests." 

“I don’t have any other guests,” said Helen. “My dad is stuck at the airport, and my brother and his husband both got a stomach bug of some kind, so even if there wasn’t a blizzard it would just be me and Dad. Or me, Dad, and you. Only Dad _is_ stuck, so it’s just you and me anyway.”

“Oh,” Vanya said, and she tried to stop blushing. “Okay.”

“So,” Helen said, standing up straight, “I’m going to get you a pair of socks, put your socks on the radiator, and then I can go back to cooking.”

“I thought you were done cooking,” said Vanya, but then her nose caught up with the rest of her, and she could smell turkey cooking, smell herbs and something sweet and something else creamy… Her stomach growled loudly enough that Helen looked up at her, eyes narrowed.

“Have you eaten yet today?” She was zeroing in on Vanya now, as Vanya pulled her sweater off. It left Vanya in just her blue button down, although she was cold enough that her nipples were sticking out. She almost never wore bras, and she was starting to regret that. 

“I had breakfast… when I woke up,” said Vanya, “and then it was, you know, waiting for the Thanksgiving dinner…” 

Helen tutted, and she grabbed Vanya by the wrist, dragging her deeper into the house. “Come on,” she said. “I’m going to feed you.” 

* * *

Helen lived in an old brownstone with creaking hardwood floors and dark wood furniture. It had an old, lived in quality to it, even if the decor was a bit more muted. It reminded her of the mansion, a little bit. Minus the taxidermy and the slightly unsettling air of foreboding. 

There was a pile of bright blankets on the couch, their reds, oranges, and yellows a stark contrast to the slate grey and dark blue of the other decor. Helen grabbed a blanket and threw it over Vanya’s shoulders, then sat Vanya on the couch. It was deep, and Vanya almost immediately began to sink into it. 

“Your cousin, right?” Vanya pulled the blanket tightly around herself, rubbing her cheek against the slightly scratchy fabric.

Helen smiled at Vanya, as she made her way upstairs. “Right,” she called down. “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.”

There was the creaking of the floor above her, and Vanya tucked her cold feet up under her thighs. This was all… weird, but at least she wasn’t stewing by herself in her apartment? Right? 

Helen came downstairs again, holding a pair of thick white socks. “I’m almost done cooking,” she told Vanya. “It’s mostly just stuffing, green beans, stuff like that.”

“Green beans? I like green beans.” Vanya took the socks— they were thick, and made of what felt like wool. They were warm against her toes, and the heat was beginning to return to her. 

“That’s good to know,” said Helen. “Come keep me company in the kitchen while I make dinner.”

“Right,” said Vanya, and she followed after Helen into the kitchen. “Are you sure I can’t do anything to help?”

“Taste test things for me,” said Helen, indicating the chair by the kitchen table. “I”m going tongue blind.”

“Tongue blind?”

“When you cook too much, everything ends up tasting the same,” said Helen. “I can’t always tell if something needs salt or… whatever.”

The kitchen walls were painted the color of tomato soup, and the tile was a deep cream. There were dishes in the sink, and the whole room was bright and smelled like things cooking. Vanya imagined Helen making the cream puffs in here, and she blushed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Right,” she said thickly. Oh _god_. 

What if Helen knew about… all of that? About the masturbation, about Vanya’s perversity, the way she had come with her hand pressing into her full belly. Obviously not, how the hell would Helen know about any of that? But the way Helen was looking at her… it was like she knew _something_. 

“So,” said Helen, “do you know how to get the stems off green beans?” 

“I can if you show me,” said Vanya. “Although didn’t you say I’d be a hindrance in the kitchen?” 

“Anyone can stem green beans,” said Helen. “It’s practically idiot proof.”

Vanya let the blanket fall off her shoulders, as Helen put a bowl full of green beans in front of her. “I’m not sure if I can take that as an insult or not.” 

“Well, I didn’t mean it as an insult,” said Helen, and she went back to chopping onions, a glass of wine by the cutting board. 

“Then I’ll definitely do my best not to take it as such,” said Vanya, and she began to remove the woody stems from the tips of the green beans. 

“Good,” said Helen, and then the kitchen was filled with the quiet thump of the knife and the quiet sound of the radio nearby. 

It turned out they listened to the same classical station, and Vanya tried to imagine Helen listening to _Rhapsody in Blue_ while doing things in her own kitchen. It warmed her, more than the blanket or the heat of the oven, and she was smiling as she shelled the beans. 

* * *

“You’re not doing it right,” said Helen, after half an hour.

“I thought you said it was idiot proof,” groused Vanya, but it was a friendly grouse. She’d rolled her sleeves up at this point, and was carefully gettings the stems off. 

“I’ve been doing it too long. That makes me think it’s easier than it is.” Helen leaned over Vanya, and her long hair was ticklish against Vanya’s cheek. Helen’s breasts were pressing into the space between Vanya’s shoulder blades, and her hands were going over Vanya’s. She guided Vanya’s hands through the motions, then rested her hands on Vanya’s belly, rubbing it gently. 

It was a lot more distracting than it had a right to be, particularly since Helen had been feeding her bits and pieces of things that she had been working.

“Much better,” Helen said, after Vanya had mindlessly de-stemmed several green beans. Helen’s hands were moving across the softness of her belly, and they were like hot brands, as Vanya broke out in goosebumps. 

“Right,” Vanya said, and her voice cracked. “Thanks.”

_Thanks? Fucking really?_ She was wincing internally. 

“You’re welcome,” said Helen, and her breath was warm against Vanya’s cheek, just for a moment. Then Helen pulled back, and she cleared her throat. “You’ve got that covered, then?” She sounded flustered, which was… something. 

“Right,” said Vanya. She seemed to be missing something, but… well, who even knew what it was? 

* * * 

Helen, it turned out, had a dining room. She had a dining room, with a heavy, sturdy dining room table made out of some kind of dark wood. It looked like the kind of thing you could slaughter a cow on. Vanya was impressed in spite of herself, as she set the two plates next to each other, then the wine glasses, then the various dishes of things. 

Helen brought the turkey out, and Vanya made her own appreciative noises, as it was rather ceremoniously placed. 

“It must be more Norman Rockwell-y for your family,” said Vanya, and she cleared her throat.

“Not really, no,” said Helen. “How about yours?” Vanya sat back in her seat, and she squirmed— she was already half-full with all the tidbits that Helen had been having her try. She was a bit worried she wouldn’t be able to finish everything. 

“It’s… well, my family hasn’t done Thanksgiving in a very long time,” said Vanya. “My mom is pretty good, though.” 

“That’s good,” said Helen. “And we can have your pie for dessert, along with all the stuff I made.”

“What did you make?” Vanya meekly handed over her plate, as Helen beckoned for it.

“Cream puffs,” said Helen, and Vanya tried not to blush. “A roll cake. Pumpkin pie, which will go well with your apple pie. Plus ice cream.”

“That all sounds amazing,” Vanya said, as Helen began to load up her plate. There were maple roasted brussel sprouts, three pieces of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans. There was cranberry sauce as well, and a roll that was lumpy enough that it had to be homemade. “Oh,” Vanya said, when the plate was put in front of her. “That’s, uh, that’s a lot.”

“I’ve got faith you can finish it,” Helen said, and she was blushing now— Vanya was almost positive. 

“Right,” said Vanya, and she took a sip of her wine. She didn’t even know where her anxiety was coming from, but it was churning. Still, the food looked delicious. 

* * *

Vanya finished her plate. She finished her plate, and she finished her wine, then finished the next glass of wine that Helen poured for her. The conversation flowed easily enough, although as Helen drank more wine, she watched Vanya more intently. 

“You should have another plate,” Helen said, when Vanya had mopped up the last of her cranberry sauce with a roll. They were sitting close enough together that their knees were almost touching, and Vanya wondered if there was a discrete way for her to unbutton her pants. 

“I’ll explode if I eat any more,” Vanya said, and she was only mostly joking.

“Please?” Helen was actually batting her eyes at Vanya, and Vanya noticed the way she was shifting in her seat. Was she… rubbing her thighs together?

“Would you be insulted if I, uh, if I got more comfortable?” Vanya cleared her throat. “My waistband is cutting into my stomach.”

“Please,” said Helen. “I’ll fill your plate up again.”

“Right,” said Vanya, as she reached down, carefully unbuttoning her jeans, then letting them unzip. She sighed, a long, deep sound, and she leaned back into her chair. 

“It’s… I like that you like my food,” Helen said, and maybe Vanya was imagining things, but it looked like Helen was blushing even harder. 

“Well, of course I like it,” said Vanya. “It’s… _delicious_.” That might have been more emphatic than she meant it to be, but then again, there was wine.

“If it’s so delicious, you should eat more of it,” said Helen, as she loaded Vanya’s plate up all over again. 

There was a lot of food, all over again, and Vanya looked at it, then looked at Helen’s face. Helen was watching her intently. Vanya took a bite of turkey, and Helen’s face got pinker. She was _definitely_ squirming, and her foot was pressing against Vanya’s under the table. 

“I can’t eat another bite,” said Vanya, after she’d finished the turkey and half the stuffing. She stifled a burp behind one hand, and she was blushing harder. 

“You could,” said Helen. “I’m sure you could.” She was shuffling a little closer now, and her foot was moving along Vanya’s ankle, up her leg. “You definitely could.” 

“Do you think?” There was prolonged eye contact. A lot of it. A whole lot of it. 

“Oh, I don’t think,” said Helen, and now she was grabbing her own fork, to spear a piece of turkey. She held it out to Vanya’s mouth, and Vanya opened her mouth. She shouldn’t have. She was so full that she was already starting to regret, as she chewed, then swallowed and opened her mouth a little wider.

“You don’t think?” Vany said, and Helen was scooting her chair closer, until they were knee to knee, and Helen was leaning forward.

“I _know_,” Helen said, and she dropped the fork. It clattered, and Vanya jumped, and then she was being kissed, Helen’s warm mouth against her own. Helen’s mouth tasted like cranberry sauce and the sage that was in the turkey, and Helen’s fingers were in Vanya’s hair. 

It wasn’t entirely unexpected. Amongst the exaltation of being kissed and the abject terror of someone else’s tongue in her mouth was a small, self-satisfied _I was reading it right_. She pulled away from Helen, panting, and she blinked at Helen, wide eyed. 

“Oh,” said Vanya. 

“Right,” said Helen, and she stood up. “Push your chair back.”

“My chair,” Vanya echoed. 

“I want to sit on your lap,” Helen said, as if that was the most obvious answer. “I can’t do that if you’re up against the table like that.”

“Oh,” said Vanya. “Right.” It made logical sense. She scooted back, wincing at the way the chair scraped, and... then Helen was climbing into her lap. Helen’s hands were pressing down on Vanya’s belly, nervously tugging at buttons. Helen’s mouth was hot and wet against Vanya’s, and Helen’s tongue was delicate, then insistent. Vanya could smell all the delicious food, and the warmth of Helen’s skin, and Vanya’s head was spinning with wine and... everything. All of everything.

“You should eat some more,” said Helen, and then she was… reaching behind, with her hand, and taking a dollop of mashed potato. She held it up against Vanya’s lips, and Vanya sucked it off, her eyes still on Helen’s, sucking the creamy potato off. She traced her tongue along the rounded, blunt edge of Helen’s nail, and Helens’ fingertip explored the inside of Vanya’s mouth. 

“Do you have a… thing?” Vanya’s voice was garbled, as Helen’s finger tip pressed down on one of her molars.

“I have a lot of things,” Helen said, and she took her fingers out of Vanya’s mouth, reaching back for Vanya’s plate and grabbing more mashed potato, with a little stuffing this time. Vanya ate it, and then she turned her face away, and burped again.

“Sorry,” Vanya said, and she sighed, as Helen finally succeeded in unbuttoning her shirt, then pushed her undershirt up. Helen’s hand was very warm on the tight skin of Vanya’s belly, and she pressed down. 

“Don’t be sorry,” said Helen. “You’re so full. You ate so much, Vanya.” Her cheeks were very pink, and her eyes were very bright. She was pressing down on Vanya’s stomach, and Vanya burped again, turning her head away just in time.

“Sorry,” Vanya said again.

“You don’t need to apologize,” said Helen. “You did such a good job. You’re _so_ full, Vanya…” She pressed down again. “You ate so much for me.” She kissed Vanya again, still pressing down on her belly, her hands moving up to Vanya’s breasts, then back to her belly. She seemed captivated with it, and the two of them were pressed so tightly together, breathing each other’s breath. Vanya’s hand went between the two of them, along the seam of Helen’s pants, and Helen ground her hips forward. 

“I’ll do it again,” Vanya said, and she unbuttoned Helen’s pants carefully, her hands skating over Helen’s belly. “Would you want me to, uh… that is…” She cleared her throat. “I could…” Her hand over the waistband of Helen’s underwear. 

Helen grabbed her wrist, and she pushed Vanya’s hand down into her panties. 

Vanya wiggled her fingers, then slipped then between Helen’s labia, pressing down on the hard nub of Helen’s clit, then angling her wrist some more, so that she could slip a finger inside of Helen, her thumb on Helen’s clit. 

Helen gasped, and she grabbed more food, pressing it up against Vanya’s lips. Mashed potatoes and a piece of turkey. Vanya took it into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, then sucked the cranberry sauce off of Helen’s fingers as she curled the finger inside of Helen, finding the change of texture of her clit. 

“You feel… so good,” said Vanya, and her other hand was on Helen’s breast, pinching her nipple awkwardly through the fabric of Helen’s bra. 

“You’re doing so well,” Helen repeated, and she was pressing more mashed potatoes into Vanya’s mouth. “You ate so much for me, Vanya, I can feel how full you are.”

_If I develop a passion for root vegetables after this, it’s going to be her fault_, thought Vanya, as she began to thrust awkwardly. She sucked the mashed potatoes off of Helen’s fingers, and she added a second finger inside of Helen, tugging on Helen’s nipple. 

"I want to keep feeding you," said Helen, as she rode Vanya's fingers. She was sweating now, and her hair was sticking to her face. "I've been… oh, right there, Vanya!" Helen pressed down on Vanya's tongue and clenched around Vanya's fingers, her arousal sticking up Vanya's palm. "God, watching you eat, it's all I can think about." She was beginning to ride Vanya's hand, clenching tighter. 

"Yeah?" Vanya sucked more cranberry sauce off Helen's fingers, and she crooked her fingers a little harder. 

Helen's whole body went rigid as her orgasm hit her, and she cried out as she came, trembling against Vanya, her cunt gripping Vanya's fingers rhythmically, like a squeezing fist. 

"Oh…," Helen murmured, and she kissed Vanya, and kept kissing her. "God."

"Was that… was that good?" Vanya licked her lips. "Do you…" She was kissed again, harder this time, and Helen's hands were on her face. 

"I really want to eat you out," said Helen. "Can I eat you out?"

"You can do some eating," Vanya said. "Might be easier on my stomach."

"Are you bothered by the eating thing?" Helen's hand left Vanya's stomach, and for the first time Helen looked less than self possessed. 

Vanya took Helen's hand, pressed it against her overly stuffed belly. "It's okay," she said. "It's, uh, it's a little… new." She squeezed Helen's hand. "But I'll tell you if it's not okay. Okay?"

"Right," said Helen. "Do you want me to eat you out?"

"_Yes_," Vanya said fervently. "Please."

Helen tugged Vanya's hand out of her pants, and she slithered down onto the floor, pushing Vanya’s thighs open. Then she paused. “I need you to lift your hips up,” she said. looking up at Vanya through her eyelashes.

“Right,” Vanya said, and her tongue was thick in her mouth. “Although, uh, I… I mean, your chair, i might—”

“I can get the chair cleaned,” Helen said, as Vanya sat up upright just enough to pull her pants and boxers off in one motion, until they were around her thighs.

Vanya was wet— she was wet enough she could smell her own cunt, and Helen’s hand was going from her inner thigh to her belly, and Helen’s tongue was tapping away at her clit, the fingers of her other hand sliding into Vanya’s cunt. She was shuddering as Helen sucked on her clit, beginning to rock her fingers, filling her up.

Helen licked around her own fingers, and then she was sucking on Vanya’s clit again, and Vanya looked down, made eye contact. Helen was staring at her, face red, and Vanya wasn’t even thinking as she grabbed at her own plate and shoved a handful of turkey into her mouth. Her stomach protested, but Helen moaned against her cunt, and Vanya grabbed the top of Helen’s head, pressing her hips forward, to get it Helen’s mouth closer.

She was getting mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce into Helen’s hair. She was going to have to apologize for that, as Helen pressed down on her belly, and then she was sucking harder, her hips jerking forward. She was sobbing, and her heels were digging into the legs of the chair. “Helen,” she gasped. “Helen, I’m… Helen, Helen, _Helen_!” The pleasure crested and grew inside of her, tightening in her groin like the strings of her violin. Her back bowed forward, her eyes squeezing shut, and she could hear the dishes rattle.

No.

She needed to hold on, she needed to stay calm enough to not break Helen’s stuff. It was one thing to break her own stuff, but… still. She let her mouth fall open, and she let her whole body relax into the chair, let herself just _feel_ everything. Her full stomach, her pounding heart, the warmth of Helen’s breath on her cunt, the slippery firmness of Helen’s tongue on her clit. She sank like a stone, and then she was coming. It was an intense, full body orgasm, and it left her calves cramping, her hips juddering forward, her cunt clenching around the fingers inside of her.

The pleasure filled her body, and it left her completely drained, as Helen licked her through it, then pulled back, to kiss her right under her navel. “Wow,” said Helen, and she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. It was, quite possibly, the hottest thing Vanya had ever seen. She was still trembling through the aftershocks, her toes curling in her borrowed socks. 

“I’m—” Vanya began.

“If you apologize for having an orgasm after I performed some of the best oral sex of my sex-having career on you, I am going to pinch you in the thigh.” Helen was rubbing Vanya’s belly, pressing down gently, her fingers almost ticklish. 

“I was going to apologize for getting mashed potatoes in your hair,” said Vanya, tucking a piece strand behind Helen’s ear. “I’m all sticky.”

“It won’t be the first time,” Helen said, and she stood up slowly, then leaned forward to kiss Vanya on the mouth again. She tasted musky this time, salty. 

“Still,” said Vanya, “I got it in. I should help you wash it out.” She let herself freely ogle the curve of Helen’s hips, the lovely round of her breasts. 

“I’d love that,” Helen said, and her hand found Vanya’s belly again. “But… let’s have dessert first.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a need to write some good ol' fashioned food porn, so here ya go!
> 
> Also, Granny Smith apples _do_ make the ideal pie!


End file.
